Biathalon
by Ralinde
Summary: Five 500 word drabbles that will be my entries for the Biathalon event of the Hogwarts Winter Games at the HPFC. 1. Sprint (Severus/Lily) 2. Individual (Neville), 3. Pursuit (Molly/Arthur, Percy/Audrey), 4. Relay (Minerva, Malcolm, Robert), 5. Mass Start (Molly, Arthur, Fred).
1. Dear Lily

_A/N: The first category is Sprint - write whatever you want, whoever finishes first gets the most points. _

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><p><em>Dear Lily,<em>

_my dearest, dearest Lily. I met your son today. He looks so much like a miniature Potter that it almost made me vomit. But he has your eyes, your wonderful, lively, sparkling eyes. Oh Lily, I know what I said to you was wrong, but why did you have to dismiss all the good years before that, and worst of all, marry that Potter? I would have looked after you, and then you'd still be alive and it would have been been _our_ son in Potions today. You were always so good at Potions Lily, so naturally I would have high expections of your son. However, it seems he has Potter's lack of finesse for the noble art, alas. His presence opens wounds that have never quite healed. I wish you were here Lily, not a day goes by that I don't miss you._

_Always,_

_Sev_

_P.S. There's also a Muggleborn girl, who reminds me of you, because she has your annoying habit of trying to reach for the moon every time a question is posed in class._

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><p>Severus looked at the letter and then tore it to pieces, which he threw into the fire. He watched as the flames consumed the parchment, until naught was left but ashes. It was dangerous to put these kind of things to parchment. The Dark Lord may be dead, but Severus had a feeling it wasn't over yet. He took his Pensieve from his cupboard and set his wand at his temple. Long, silver threads formed and he let them fall into the Pensieve, one by one, every single thought of Lily, and Potter, and Lily, and that boy of theirs, and Lily...<p>

He fell into his chair afterwards and wondered how much longer he needed to go on like this. He had discussed it so many times with Albus, and everytime the old man had convinced him to continue _playing his part_. That more than anything convinced him that maybe the worst had yet to come. He decided that he needed to stop writing her letters that would never arrive, or think about her for that matter. If the Dark Lord returned and found out that he'd been loving Lily from the moment they first met until long after she was gone... He shuddered at the thought of what might happen. He needed to forget about Lily. He needed to treat her son with as much contempt as possible - not that that would be difficult, the boy promised to be as much a pain in the ass as his father had been.

Treating the boy with contempt might be easy, but forgetting Lily was something he knew he could never accomplish. So there was really only one option left: he needed to become the best Occlumens this wizarding community had ever known, and pray that that would be enough. He stood up. He was a fairly good Occlumens already, but he still had a long way to go.


	2. Sweet wrappers

_A/N: The second category is Individual - write about Ginny, Luna, Neville, Dean or Seamus. I picked Neville, because he doesn't get enough fanfiction love._

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><p>He sat there twice a week. They babbled, he listened, Gran chimed in from time to time... He felt ambiguous towards these visits. They made him sad, happy, angry and resentful all at once. Sad because of the state they where in, happy that at least they were still alive, angry about what the war had reduced them to and resentful because, well, how well did he actually know them? They were his parents so he loved them, but they might as well have been total strangers. He had little to none memories of them.<p>

He could of course not talk about any of this with Gran, she'd sure hex him into the next century for giving his parents anything less than his complete and utter devotion. Sometimes he thought the visits were more to ease Gran's mind than to have him 'connect with his parents' but he did not say that out loud either.

There really was nothing to connect over; they did not even register him as their son, to them he was just a regular visitor who brought sweets. _Sweets_. That was about the only thing he felt a sort of connection over with them. He clenched his hand around the sweet wrapper in his pocket and was relieved it was still there. At a certain point, his Mum had started to give him sweet wrappers everytime he left and then she would look at him with this radiant smile and his heart would break and melt at the same time. He kept them all, in a vain hope that maybe someday they'd find a cure and then they could build more memories than just a drawer full of sweet wrappers.

But even if a cure was found, they would still have missed a large part of their life. The world they knew _before_ was a whole lot different than the world now. Sometimes he wondered deep in his heart if they wouldn't have been better off dead, like Harry's parents, because the way they were now wasn't really living either. Immediately after such thoughts arose, he felt regret and then he promised himself he'd be extra kind to them on the next visit. It also made him feel guilty about his own failed attempts to try and be more like them. When he looked into the mirror, he saw the both of them reflected in his own face, yet he could never be a hero like they had been.

But didn't he owe it to them to make the most out of his life? Suppose a cure _was_ found, would he want them to find out that their son had grown up a coward, or would he want them to be proud of him? He felt once more for the sweet wrapper in his pocket and smiled. There was only one possible answer to that question and despite everything, he couldn't give up. He had to keep trying, for their sakes.


	3. Meeting Molly

_A/N: For Pursuit, we were to write about our OTP. _

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><p>Molly paced up and down the waiting room. Despite the fact that she had worked several years as a nurse and midwife and that this wasn't her first grandchild, she was on unfamiliar territory and she didn't like that.<p>

"Molly, would you please just sit down?" Arthur asked for the umptieth time. "You're making me nervous."

"I can't help it, Arthur. It's just... I don't know how things work around here. The basics are the same, but what if something were to go wrong? If only I could just get some insight into their methods, maybe even talk to one of the Healers...doctors, I mean..."

"It's going to be alright. Muggle women have delivered babies for ages, just like witches have. I'm sure the Healers here have the same expertise as those working at St. Mungo's."

Molly gave him a scolding look and then quickly glanced over to Audrey's parents. They were as nervous as Molly was, perhaps even more, because this was their first grandchild. Luckily, they hadn't heard Arthur's words, otherwise, she and Arthur would have had some explaining to do.

Arthur tried a different approach to make his wife sit down.

"Remember when you gave birth to Percy?"

"I do. He came four weeks early, we weren't ready yet." She stopped pacing. "Birthing him was easy enough, but he was ever so tiny, we feared he would not make it. But he pulled through. He's a fighter, our Perce. Stubborn as an ox, but a fighter."

Arthur nodded. "I'm sure he'll pass those genes on."

The doors to the delivery room burst open and a flush-faced Percy appeared. "It's a girl!"

They all ran to hug and congratulate him.

"Would you like to see her? She's amazing, with her tiny hands and toes and..." His face shone with pride.

Carefully, four parents approached the bed in which Audrey lay, cradling her newborn.

"Isn't she just adorable?"

Molly looked at her new grandchild. She _was_ adorable. She noticed the tuft of Weasley red on top of her head and smiled at Arthur. "I think that after decades of Weasley sons, the era of Weasley daughters has arrived."

"What's her name?" Arthur asked.

"Well, we've been thinking..." Percy nervously pushed his glasses back on his nose. "It's going to be Molly."

"Molly Irene Weasley," Audrey complemented.

There was a moment of silence and then Molly flung herself around his neck, her eyes filled with tears. "Oh Percy!"

Audrey's mother was hugging Audrey, and Arthur remembered that her first name was Irene.

He got a little emotional as well. He knew this was Percy's ultimate tribute to his mother, his way to make up for their estrangement, and for some reason that melted away the last resolves he might still have held against his third son.

He smiled warmly at Percy. "With a name like that, how can she be anything but perfect?"

With tears in his eyes, Percy mouthed a silent 'thank you' and Arthur knew that his son had understood. _This would be a fresh new start, for all of them.  
><em>


	4. Chess

_A/N: For relay, we had to write about two or more prople working together to make something happen_.

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><p>There was a sound of something crashing on the floor and then an "Uh-oh..."<p>

Minerva ran towards the living room, and found a disheartened Robert amidst what appeared to be Father's chess set. "Robert, what have you done?!"

Robert's lip started to tremble, scared by her tone of voice and the look on her face. She sighed and knelt down beside the toddler.

"What have you done?" she asked in a gentler tone now.

As an answer Robert pointed towards the shelf. "Teddy," was all he could manage.

Minerva let out an exasperated sigh. "Malcolm McGonagall!"

The not-quite-innocent figure of her brother appeared in the doorway.

She pointed at the teddybear. "What did you that for?"

"It's funny," Malcolm shrugged.

"Is it now? And I suppose that what happened to Father's chess set is funny as well?"

Malcolm was starting to get uncomfortable under her piercing gaze. "No," he mumbled.

"We are going to have to fix this, you and I."

"But, I was going to meet up with Steve and Alex," Malcolm protested, but Minerva would hear none of it. "You've started this, so you'll have to face the consequences as well. Now, get me some glue."

"Glue? We're going to glue it back together?" He stared at her incredulously. "That'll take forever!"

"Yes of course we are."

"Couldn't you just..."

"No," she said sternly. "You know perfectly well that I can't. Or have you forgotten about the 'no magic' rule?"

He tried to make her change her mind. "Mam and Dad aren't here, and surely this Ministry wouldn't notice it if you'd use just a wee bit of..."

Minerva however was adamant. "I said no. Now. Go. Get. That. Glue."

Malcolm ran for it. She handed Robert his teddybear and he crawled away happily.

Malcolm returned with the glue and she made him pick up the broken chess pieces and lay them on a cloth on the table.

"Let's sort them first."

Grudgingly, Malcolm started to put pieces together. It turned out a third of all pieces was damaged, most of them rather easily fixable with a bit of glue. The black queen however was a totally different story. She had smashed to pieces and splinters and Minerva knew it would take her forever to fix her.

"Come one, we have to work together," she said and tried to keep her voice even. "If you hold them, I'll apply the glue. Let's start with that white knight, shall we? No, not like that," she corrected him. "Your horse is facing backwards now. There, that's better." She put some glue on each part. "Hold them tight together."

They worked meticulously for nearly two hours. Malcolm's face got more sour with every minute that passed, but he knew better then to protest. At last, all pieces were able to stand again, even the black queen, although a part of her crown was still missing.

Minerva looked at the chess set critically. She could have done a far neater job if she'd used magic, but it would have to do. She hoped Father wouldn't be _too_ mad.

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><p><em>AN: There are no known canon age differences between the McGonagall children, however we know that Malcolm is at least five years younger than Minerva (because she was four when Isobel told Robert Sr she and Minerva were witches, and it would make sense for Robert Sr to need some time to adjust to the idea). In my headcanon, Robert Jr came quite some years after, so in this story he's only 1 when Minerva is about 14._


	5. Hold me tight

_A/N: For Mass Start, we had to write about one of the two Wizarding Wars. This drabble was originally intended as my entry for 'Pursuit' but I felt it fitted this category better._

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><p>"Nooooooooo!"<p>

The world slowed down, slower and slower until it stopped altogether.

Strong arms hold her tight, Arthur's arms she knew. She struggled against them, battled them, hit them with her fists until they let go. She fell down on her knees, but didn't register the pain. All she could see was the body on the floor, the ruffled clothes, the pale colour, the way the limps lay limply on the side...

Her eyes filled with tears, which proceeded to run freely down her cheeks. She took his hand, the hand that still felt warm but would never hold a wand again, and pressed it against her chest. Arthur's arms wrapped themselves around her again and this time she let him.

She felt the heaving of his chest against her back, felt the hot tears fall on the top of her head, heard him sniffing his nose. Arthur, her rock, her anchor, the one who kept her grounded when she lost control, was crying._ Arthur never cried_. He might get emotional, but he never cried and somehow, the fact that he was made it more real than the corpse in front of her.

Of course she knew that people died in wars. She knew it all too well. Fabian and Gideon's deaths had taught her years ago. Yet somehow she never thought she'd really loose one of her _children_. She had feared it though, it had been her greatest fear ever since Harry had announced that V-v-You-Know-Who had returned. But she and Arthur had steered them safely through the storm the first time, so why shouldn't they a second time?

She had threatened her children not to get involved, but to no avail. Ron, Ginny, Bill, George... even Arthur had been close to death at some point in this war, but they had all returned to her side, however damaged they might be. But this time... It made no sense. _How could someone who had so much live inside of him die?_ A part was torn from her heart and she knew it would never truly heal again.

"Arthur?"

"I know," he replied in a choked up voice, "I know."

She heard the silent plea in his voice - _please don't say it out loud_. So she kept silent.

"Just... hold me," she whispered through her tears and he wrapped his arms a little tighter around her. She leaned into the embrace, wanting his arms to envelope as much of her as they could, wanting them to take away all the bad things, the death of her son... She closed her eyes and for a second, the world around her seemed to disappear. Then she registered the limp hand that she was still holding and reality crashed upon her once more, knocking the air out of her lungs.

If it weren't for Arthur's arms holding her together, she'd surely fall and shatter.


End file.
